


Red String

by Rokutagrl



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokutagrl/pseuds/Rokutagrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slightly AUish. Mainly AbeMihashi. Abe Takaya was born with the ability to see the Red String of Fate, which ties lovers together. Just because you don't have a thread doesn't mean you can't love?...Right?</p>
<p>Also on FF.Net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Abe is small with his eyes furrowed in the general direction of the dashboard as though he were having a mental conversation with the glove compartment and perhaps—just perhaps if he opens it up the answers will scatter on his lap.

But Abe-san knows better, watching her son and his narrowed brows knit further in frustration. She doesn't know what to say exactly to be of any help so she rubs her growing stomach with one hand and grips the steering wheel harder with the other. Her eyes are darting between the road and her quiet son, lips pursed trying to find just the right words.

What is she supposed to say, on the day of her own father's funeral? The pregnancy has her emotions going haywire (maybe it wasn't such a great idea to drive) and the thought that one of her parents was now buried made her throat too dry to swallow. There were so many things she had wanted to say to him before he left—not all of them nice, by the way—and now she can never say them.

So here she was trapped in the silence of her car with a child on the way and a boy who had been there almost four years already. How does she help him, talk to him even when she wasn't all that certain momentarily how to help herself? How does she begin to tell him that one-day he would be in the exact same position she was in now, sans the pregnancy?

She doesn't have to wait too long until her son starts for her.

"Mom, why is it gone?" She tries not to be thrown off by his poor use of grammar. She would just have to work on her soon-to-be Shun-chan a little earlier.

"It happens, Takaya," as though she were explaining why it snowed in the Winter and rained in the Spring. "Life has a cycle of birth, the present, and death. Your grandfather was needed somewhere else… With Buddha. To do things."

There, was that so hard?

Out of the corner of her eyes she can see her son knit his brows into an impossible scowl, "I didn't mean why Grandpa left. I meant why _it_ left. The string that held Grandma and Grandpa together."

Oh, well, if it was only that… What?

"The…string?"

"Uh-huh. The Red String that had them together forevers and evers. After we buried Grandpa it was gone and I don't understand why!"

Abe-san had pictured having a conversation with her son. She didn't know when, or where, or how, but she knew it was going to have to happen since her husband would probably groan from his spot in front of the television and grumble something about it being her problem since, "It's your father after all." Talks about string had never been apart of the equation until now.

"Your grandfather died because it was his time to go, Taka-chan. Even when you love someone a whole lot, it doesn't change that one day you have to leave them—and everyone else—behind. We're not meant to stay in this world forever."

Flawless, Abe-san allows herself a pat on the back. Not literally of course seeing as how she was supposed to be driving.

"But…"

"Are you talking about… that silly legend? The one where some old guy does matchmaking for a living, and he puts thread of people's ankles? Something, something, 'the thread expands and tangles, but never breaks.'"

'Wrong,' Abe thinks silently to himself. He wants to say it aloud, but his little brother made a crank out of his mother so he tries not to step on her toes too often these days.

Undeterred by her son's internal monologues, Abe-san steers the car into the driveway. When the car is parked she turns to her son in what he knows to be her 'Mother Needs To Lecture' face. "You know, Taka-chan, it's only a story. It just helps people feel better: to know that there is someone out there to complete them. Soul mates, like your father and me. It's not to be taken literally. That is, not word for word as truth."

Abe-san leans over, careful of her protruding stomach, to help her son out of his seat belt. As she waddles around the car to open his side of the door, Abe can only hear her words resound in his head.

'Wrong again, mom,' he thinks somberly, 'the red thread  _is_ real, but it isn't on your ankle. It's on your pinky right now and…'

By the time Abe-san has opened her sons door, ready to help lift him from the seat he has already lost to the temptation.

"Your thread isn't attached to daddy's," young Abe looks up to his mother as her disturbed face transforms into one of confusion, before settling into a stern frown.

"Who told you that?!" She lifts the small boy a bit too roughly from his seat before slamming the car door shut.

Abe does not like the glare she's using on him, so he tries to hide by looking the other way. She can still see him, though, so when she grabs his chin sternly with two fingers and asks him to look at her Abe is certain his master plan has failed.

"No one!" He promises his mother, trying not to cry. Girls cried, and Abe was most certainly not a pansy, dress-wearing girl with cooties.

"It was your grandmother, wasn't it? She's putting these ridiculous stories in your head!" Abe-san grouches out, letting go of her son. He tries to protest, but the pregnant woman is already to the front of the house and in the middle of a rant.

"That woman! Everything she does is just so damn perfect, but anyone else…!"

Abe doesn't think it would be all that great to mention now that grandmother didn't even know about her own thread. That Abe-san's little boy had _seen_ the string with his own eyes, and he had seen it just as quickly vanish. Or that he could see his mother's all the same, that every word he said was truth.

She's still going at it in the house when Abe makes it inside, throwing the occasional comment towards her husband who doesn't bother to even acknowledge they're home. He's too busy watching the baseball game, and both he and Abe have become masters of tuning out the hormonal woman in the kitchen. In the last seven months Abe considers himself a 'professional ignorer.'

Fate had some sort of way to work itself out without Abe's help, so he thinks better than to risk his own peace and slinks numbly into the seat next to his father.

\----

They were everywhere. Especially on the train.

If Abe looked up at given second, any station, all he would be able to see was a vast field of red walls and partial faces. Red through the train widows and metal walls, red on the ground at his feet, red taut and suspended in mid air.

Red, red, red, red, red.

Everyone had a soul mate, Abe knew, so it was only logical that anywhere people happened to be there was also bound to be string. Even now as he starred down he could see the ghostly yarn swaying around his body, sometimes what  _looked_ to be through his body, trailing in the direction of the people standing before him and probably connected to someone on the outside beyond.

He had learned long ago that he couldn't actually touch the Red String of Fate. It was a visual haunting, nothing physical. He could walk right between a couple on the street and neither harm their relationship or bring any significant change (except the minor times he walked through a couple holding hands. It changed a lot of things, like their tempers).

Usually it was easier to see people around him, given the wide open space outside, and the fact the string often appeared more translucent—intangible—but the train was filled with people from every walk of life stuffed together so closely until you couldn't tell your neighbors breath from your own.

Abe hated the train, if it were difficult to obtain. And it had very little to do with the clanging noise or unnecessary sharp turns.

There were only two places Abe knew certainly where he couldn't see the vomit of red and that was pretty much every graveyard. Most people had already buried their beloved one and no longer needed anything tied to their short appendage. Funerals were a bit different, considering living people were in attendance and not all of them had dead significant others.

Of course Abe had seen living people walking around without a string. He had learned young that although most people would eventually find their 'true love,' not everyone was lucky. Sometimes people searched their whole lives looking for that special spark not knowing that the other person was no longer on the other end; their soul mate was already far-gone.

One moment had been stuck in his mind as an exceptional eye-opener. Abe remembered an especially sweet clerk who worked in the convenience store two blocks down from his house. After Shun-chan had been born and his mother's rage trickled into cooing, Abe spent most of his time there reading comics and eating stale meat buns the Big Sister* had offered him. They would talk about Abe's school, and she would tell him she had always wanted a son like him, and on Tuesday afternoons Abe would keep quiet as he noticed the string on her finger tug in the general direction of the store entrance where, even if he had been blind folded, Abe could claim it was some well dressed business man.

Mr. Business man would pet Abe on the head and make conversation with the Big Sister, and she would laugh at his stupid jokes and he would blush while running his hand through sleeked back hair. He would leave soon afterwards, and Abe would be fascinated as the string expanded to accommodate the distance.

One day he just came into the shop and met Big Sister who offered him some two day old bread to nibble on, and the whole time Abe couldn't help but think something was just a bit off in the store.

The String of Fate was no longer there. As though her pinky had been bare the whole time, but she just smiled and mentioned nothing amiss.

Abe never saw the man again, and he didn't have to be too much of a genius to understand what had happened. Granted his epiphany hit five years later and the Big Sister had moved off to somewhere in Tokyo to start her singing career. Or something.

It wasn't like he had a How-To-Guide for the Mentally String-a-phobic. Plus he had already tried going up 'ask your mother' aisle several times, but Abe-san would have none of it. Maybe she was just a bit spooked out by her son's ability, or maybe she just begrudged him for his last statement almost twelve years ago. No matter the case, Abe had always been on his own in this not so swell of an adventure.

Abe grimaced thinking about the morbidity of his thoughts. It was really the rocking train that put him on edge, and the constant chatter that pushed him into his own seat and made him squirm. But it also wasn't completely the train's fault, considering the day's events.

Abe felt a jolt of appreciation as the loud speaker above his head announced the next stop would be in the Saitama Prefecture. He was relieved to soon be getting out into wide-open spaces. To sleep in his own room again and be rid of people, and strings, for the next couple of hours.

Or maybe his relief all came down to knowing that the only other place he couldn't see the Red String was on the train, starring down at his own bare finger and knowing it had always been that way. What was the point of being visually assaulted everyday by other people's blinding happiness when his 'other half' didn't even exist. Perhaps worse: had, but no longer lived.

So much for soul mates.

\----

*Big Sister: In Japan older, young adults are usually referred to as Onee-san and Onii-san (Big Sister and Big Brother). Rather than make-up names for purpose-made-only characters I opted to use Japanese culture but translated it instead of throwing in random Japanese here and there. It also just felt like a good fit to me.


	2. A String of Annoyances

Someone is crying and all Abe wants to do is walk by and have nothing to do with it. Today the Big Sister at the convenience store says she'll have candy for him and some Shounen Jump if he can make it before her shift ends. Plus he really wants to get home early because his mother is making Shun-chan his favorite dish tonight, which inadvertently also happens to be a favorite of Abe's as well. So it's a horrible coincidence he thinks when turning the corner to gather his forgotten belongings that he happens upon the source of all the obnoxious noise.

Abe's late enough already having turned around halfway home, and he really doesn't want to bother with the pig-tailed girl crying into her skirts. She's in his class although Abe can't place a name to her half hidden face. He tries to tiptoe by her and just as he grabs for his lunch box he just happens to catch her eye.

"A-a-a-abe-kun?" Sniffle. Hiccup. Tear. Sob. Great, she knows him and her eyes refuse to leave his face even when he's doing his best not to acknowledge her presence.

He keeps himself from snorting as he falls to the floor in a huff of indignation. Despite his show of theatrics she doesn't seem keen on letting him go either and starts her sobbing act all over again. He knows that a couple of years ago he would have just passed by, seen or not, but lately he's been weak against crying girls. Probably the trauma of watching his baby brother being born and the weeks that followed. As long as she keeps her germs right where they were he might actually survive.

"So…"

"A-abe-kun!" she tries again wiping at her face while Abe occupies his sight with the carpet.

"Yeah… uhm, so… What's wrong?"

"Chiyo-chan* wanted to… to play with Yuuto-chan* b-b-but he was all: 'Girls can't play, this is a b-boys game!' A-and I was a-all: 'But Chiyo-chan always plays baseball! She's really good at shortstop!' And then Mia-chan* started saying Chiyo-chan likes Yuuto-chan and-and-and—Now all the guys are spreading it around!"

Abe doesn't quite know what to say to that all. To him it is nothing more than silly playground antics. He knows Yuuto rather well, but also knows the other boy isn't connected by the string to anyone else at their school—at least no one he's seen yet. But he follows the pattern of her thread from the knuckle of her petite finger to the ghostly pool it makes on the floor.

Her thread has a single knot around her feet that Abe can see prominently. He's seen something like it before—when the thread twists and turns around another individual's, catching them in a web of confusion and lies. Like the same tie his parents share, but he can also see where they diverge from one another.

'Chiyo-chan' only has the single knot, but it doesn't connect with another loop. It reminds him of the story his mother once mentioned: how the thread could tangle and stretch, but never break. The knot, he suspects, is only a bump in the road, a one-sided romance that will eventually pass. Even if she likes Yuuto now, there will be someone waiting for her on the other side of that thread.

"Chiyo-chan doesn't even like Yuuto-chan like that! She already has someone else!" Her face turns completely red, as she seems to realize the turn of the conversation. This also seems enough to send her back into another fit of hysterics.

Abe eyes the knot in her string and blurts, "but you're not going to end up with them, anyway."

Chiyo-chan looks up at him rather indulgently and she doesn't have to ask any questions because Abe can understand them written on her face.

He gets up to leave, feeling his own discomfort where the conversation seems to be heading. He thinks he'll really have to work on keeping his mouth shut in the future. Before he can go, though, Chiyo-chan has him by the arm and she's starting to tear up again and begging Abe to explain exactly what he means by everything he just said.

So he swears her to secrecy and when she agrees he thinks the contract is binding. Just like his mother always says. He explains about the phantom red strings, how there's one around her finger just like everyone else. He tells her that she isn't attached to Yuuto-chan, and also that, "At this point I can't say who is…" He can feel his face grow hot because it's weird to talk about girly things, with a girl nonetheless.

She watches with so much interest that Abe thinks for the first time maybe it isn't such a bad thing he can see destinies plan laid out before him. Maybe it means he can have friends who understand him, are willing to keep his secret. Maybe it doesn't mean he'll be ruining people's lives all the time, like he seems to do his mother's. Plus on the bright side Chiyo-chan doesn't seem about to cry anymore. His only concern is that even as he watches the knot in her string tightens.

The next day, everyone seems to know Abe's secret. Red isn't the only thing that haunts him in Middle School.

\----

On Monday morning Abe wondered if he had enough time to about-face and spend the rest of the morning hiding under the covers. His mother would probably go for it, too, if he used the excuse that he "just didn't feel up to it." He didn't mind the fact that he was back to school, or the people loitering in the halls with their loud cliques, or even that they walked far too slowly for his own good. Heck, even the string didn't bother him too much with the open spaces.

The problem sat directly at his desk. Literally, on his desk and in his seat. Two dark haired boys seemed to be camping out waiting for him to show up, which really put a damper on Abe's already high spirits.

Sure, they weren't so bad for people. Izumi and Tajima had both been members of the baseball club since it's erection at Orientation two months ago. That made them all right in Abe's book. It was more that…

"Oh, hey, Abe. You're here," Izumi pointed out liquidly as though he didn't care much either way. Abe was fairly certain that was the case.

Tajima, the boy with a darker complexion and smile two-thirds the size of his face, jumped out of his seat and made himself comfortable at Abe's side. The catcher tried not to grimace at the lurch his stomach made when the string passed through the tips of his hair and rested on his shoulder. He eyed the long piece and the trail it made out into the hallway. Abe didn't have to follow it to know who was attached to the other end or even where they would be this early in the morning. He saw it enough at practice everyday to make him feel queasy and fluttery all at the same time.

He huffed (masculinely) before slapping away Tajima's hand.

"Hey Abe! We thought you were dead!" Tajima exclaimed rapidly following the other boy back to his seat. Whether Izumi cared about Abe's presence or not didn't matter since Tajima always seemed to care too much, pretty much towards everyone. He didn't even appear put-off by the fact that Abe had recently shrugged him away.

"We actually just came to see if someone placed flowers on your desk!" Tajima continued. Well, that was a sweet thought. Sort of.

Izumi, who hadn't even flinched from his position on top of Abe's desk even as the said boy took his seat glowering, smiled wryly. "We were kind of worried when you didn't show up for a whole week. Even missing practice was a major shocker," Izumi explained. Tajima agreed by nodding his head rapidly.

"Yeah, yeah! You always come to practice. Strictly. And when you didn't show up for six days there was a lot of talking… Say, where were you anyway? Were you just skipping class? Did somebody die?"

Abe didn't feel all that comfortable discussing his private life with classmates. Really, they were both good people with decent skills at baseball (Tajima moreso than both of them, possibly combined), but he wouldn't call them friends by any stretch of the imagination.

First there was Tajima: Abe could only stand his presence for more than a couple of hours before his shoulders felt heavy (both with physical and mental weight) and his body dragged. And that was just when they were talking. He highly respected the guy for his energy and ability on the diamond, but Abe was just a bit too high strung for keeping after the smaller boys antics.

Izumi on the other hand didn't seem phased by much at all and immediately took to being Tajima's Keeper since training camp several months ago. The paler boy could tolerate his antics like he had his own built-in super power against it. Plus, he took to the responsibility right away. Everyone thought it to be a great fit for some time and were even glad to see the two in the same class together.

Until they realized Izumi was to blame for about half of Tajima's destruction. Like the watering hose at the pool, or the pantsing of the Captain, Hanai, during a semi-important practice match.

And no one mentioned the word "glitter" within a mile of Shinooka after last month. No one liked to talk about it much, either.

Instead of continuing that train of thought, or answering Tajima's probing questions he settled with an inquisition of his own:

"How's Oki been?" Obviously something was amusing about that topic with the way Tajima quietly laughed into his hand, or Izumim's strange sparkling eyes. Did Abe want to know?

Hell yes.

"What?" He really didn't mean to sound so angry, but counting down from ten didn't seem to help him. Especially not when Izumi was mouthing 'be quiet' behind his hand to a very impish looking Tajima.

"Let's just say Momo-kan is going to want to talk to you very soon," the clean-up hitter sang aloud.

"Why?"

"Oki's no longer the Ace!" Tajima chirped happily. Because it was an occasion to act joyous about if you enjoyed losing, or if you happened to be Tajima. Unfortunately Abe was not Tajima. He was also not partial to losing.

Abe could feel a very frustrated vein popping in the center of his forehead. He had worked many, many hours on their ace. Oki had been the only member on the team with experience pitching in games. Practice games to be exact, but experience that Abe could work with. He didn't have great aim, or skill, but the main importance was he didn't feel confident enough in his own abilities to shake off Abe's signs.

So even if they lost about half of their practice games, the catcher still felt somewhat satisfied. Somewhat…

"Since you weren't here we had to cancel the Practice Match with Nishiko* High School," Izumi breezily mentioned as though they weren't missing the key component of a baseball team; a pitcher. "So instead Tajima filled in your catcher's position during practice."

"Did you know Oki couldn't throw forkballs? Neither did I!"

"They threw breaking balls without signs again. Oki said his elbow hurt, and he decided on Friday not to pitch anymore."

Neither player looked the least bit remorseful. In fact they had their conspiratorial smiles back on. The bastards.

The bell took that exact moment to warn students who were loitering in the hall, or annoying Abe, to get back to their own classrooms.

Abe really wanted to strangle them. He was actually half way out of his seat ready to do just that when Izumi jumped off the tabletop and Tajima skipped out of the room shouting, "See you at practice, Abe!"

Izumi turned around halfway down the aisle, not finding the half stunned, half pissed image of his co-captain the least bit intimidating. "By the way, Hamada might be finding you later today. He's just found his flavor of the month and wants your opinion."

"Abe-kun," Shinooka whispered next to him having just found her seat. "Please sit down. Lessons are starting soon…"

He leaned back in his seat and refrained from bursting out in anger. It was both luck and misfortune when the teacher walked in: he felt himself relax a bit having been conditioned not to scream around administrators, but he also couldn't ask the few teammates in his class anything about the past week. Maybe he shouldn't have skipped morning practice after all.

\----

Abe was not happy as he pulled on his practice uniform. He thanked whatever deity would listen that nobody else was sharing the locker room with him. He truly did not trust his mood—or his fists—momentarily.

His foul mood had probably been attributed to one of the following:

A.) Some random girl had confessed to him out of the blue—again. For some reason his looks and poor attitude made the girls feel…giddy? Or something like that. Abe didn't care to understand what they were actually thinking. Especially when they had never held a decent conversation before, or eye contact for that matter before thinking they were in love. It also really bugged him when they stood there, crying, holding their hands to their faces as they blabbered about broken hearts whenever he rejected them. It was like a bright red neon sign that said "Hey Abe, this girl thinks she likes you, and she'll cry about it for a while but eventually she'll find Real Love. Don't worry about it too much."

He didn't like to see girls cry, but in a matter of conflict he also didn't like knowing they would be happy someday. When he wasn't going to be. If that weren't enough mental pressure she then began interrogating him about 'other guy': who should she date? Who was she more compatible with? Was he gorgeous, her "Destined Someone?"

He walked away somewhere after her twelfth question.

B.) Hamada had found him during lunch period, when he had actually been looking for Oki. Abe had then spent the last half hour of the period telling Hamada exactly what he tells the guy every time there's a girl involved: "You can ask her out, but I can't guarantee it will go smoothly." Which isn't a lie because no matter how many times Hamada asks a girl out nothing will ever come of it. He didn't think mentioning it would make a difference.

C.) Oki had been avoiding him all afternoon. And Abe knew it, too. Whenever he could get out for breaks, Oki's classmates mentioned that he "had just stepped out a short while ago and would be back soon." He wasn't, and Nishihiro, the teams left-fielder and least experienced member didn't feel very keen on giving out information. Actually, he didn't look very keen on talking to Abe period if his eyes darting toward the exits were any indication. Everyone else he tried just gave him funny looks before wondering where he's been all week.

D.) All of the above.

Of course D was the correct choice, and Abe wondered if High School baseball would be the death of him. Kind of a sad outlook to have, but nothing else was proving it to be otherwise.

"OKI!" Abe yelled as he finally reached the field. He threw open the fence with strength he didn't know he was capable of, before chasing down the ex-pitcher and grabbing a handful of his practice uniform.

"H-h-h-h-hi A-a-abe-kun!" Oki braved, trying not to look Abe in the eyes. Almost as though he might turn to stone, which might have been possible with all the venom dripping from Abe's being.

"You're the only pitcher we have!" Abe hissed, clenching tighter to Oki's clothing. "If you don't pitch then we don't even have a slight chance at the Summer Tournament!"

Abe, angered as he was, didn't feel like mentioning they didn't really have a chance  _with_ Oki, either.

Oki looked confused for a minute, looking back up at Abe with a very pinched expression. Something between extreme fear and newfound shock.

"N-n-nobody told y-you?" Oki sputtered in his mix of emotions.

"They told me you quit!"

"Abe-kun, calm down!" Sakaeguchi shouted as he jumped to Oki's defense.

Hanai, deciding to take some sort of action as their captain, asked the furious catcher to clean off the balls on the bench while everyone else worked on raking the field. As soon as Abe's hands had gone slack, Oki had immediately fled behind Suyama and Nishihiro, peeking over Suyama's shoulder every so often to make sure Abe wasn't shooting him death glares.

Which evidently, he was. After every few washes Abe would look up to the field and glower at the large nosed player. He didn't hate Oki, he just wanted to win. He had risked a lot coming to a no-name high school like Nishiura and hoping to rank in the Summer Tournament. He was just lucky that nine players had showed interest enough to work hard towards that goal.

The only other person who could pitch happened to be Hanai, but Abe preferred more basic knowledge for his pitcher. And a putty-like attitude. He wasn't all that interested in starting over from scratch. Plus the captain made a more than decent Right Fielder. Moving him would just mess up their already imperfect set-up.

He sucked in a deep breath, and then exhaled. Things could have been worse… Oki could have quit altogether, or been injured, which would have resulted in their disqualification. They really needed every member to be on game, simply because there wasn't anyone else to take their place.

Abe desperately needed to play baseball. He loved the sport; he loved the air, the dirt. It calmed his nerves and invigorated his senses. Sure, sometimes he got annoyed, although that was usually the result of bumbling players and not really the game itself.

But what he loved most about baseball was its lack of red.

It was most certainly there, the String, but Abe could only see it when he wasn't concentrating on the game. And he was always concentrating on the game. It cleared his mind, and his vision seemed much more crystal than ever before. It almost felt right for Abe to sit behind the plate, glove proffered, hearing the soft pat as the ball made contact. It was like he was meant to play the game. Be there on the field at Nishiura High School with his group of mismatched players.

Plus it helped that during batting most players wore gloves on their hands, and the left-handers wore their mitts over their right hand. Abe was lucky: if he couldn't see their pinky, then he couldn't see their Strings. What a merciful loophole in this realistic nightmare he had been living.

Right didn't make it destiny, though, Abe reasoned silently with himself. Although he couldn't deny nine people happening together one day could be considered a wonderful coincidence. He just didn't really want to think that destiny had much to do with anything. Or more precisely everything.

He looked down at his own hand, flexing the small digit and assessing its movements. It didn't pull, it didn't break, and it didn't bind. It did absolutely nothing for him, so how useful could destiny really be? A bunch of hogwash, he hoped.

"It's nice to see you back!" Abe looked up to see the silhouette of his well-endowed coach up against the sun in the background. In a few hours it would be sunset and the boys would still be there milling on the field. Abe really didn't know what he was going to be doing for the rest of the day. What good was a catcher without a pitcher?

"Coach," Abe greeted, tilting his hat respectively in her direction. Her reaction was a rather large grin as she returned the nod.

"How's your first day back going?" She inquired, sitting down beside him leisurely. Abe put down the ball he had been working on into the 'finished pile'. He then grabbed another one, but didn't even bother to start working on it.

"Can't complain." He could—oh boy, could he!—but not to her.

"That's good to hear," she mentioned quietly before slinking them into a short silence. Abe didn't feel comfortable continuing a conversation so instead he went back to polishing the round object in his hands. He was already done with his fifth one and feeling much more relaxed when she started talking again.

"I was surprised when you asked for the week off, Abe-kun. You're one of the more serious guys here, and that's a long time to miss."

He scrubbed more furiously at his sixth; partially hoping he could rub away the subject. When he couldn't he sighed instead, then placed the ball next to himself on the bench.

"I was at a funeral in Kyoto."

"Kyoto?" She echoed, sounding a bit too interested. "I'm sorry for you loss," she added as an after thought.

"Yeah, thanks. My grandmother was sick and passed away last week. Most of her family is in Kyoto so my aunt came down to pick up her… remains… and I got a ride up there with her. She was going to bring me back home earlier but my cousin just had a kid so we got really busy. Then she had to go back to work…" Abe picked the ball back up again, beginning to scrub in order to hide his face and the discomfort hidden there.

Momoe just nodded—he caught the movement by the side of his eyes—and starred off at the field. "So you had to wait for her to get off…"

"No…I took the train home instead. Otherwise I would have had to wait for another three days."

"What about your parents? If I'm not being too insensitive."

Abe thought about not telling her. He had just been taught to respect authority and she _was_ doing a lot for their no-name team after all. He just didn't feel all that right refusing her requests no matter how probing they were.

"My parents are divorced," he admitted, still not looking up at her. "My dad isn't interested in that side of the family and my mom never really got a long with my grandmother. They stopped talking a while back and my mom just never forgave her."

He didn't feel like mentioning that the feud had been somewhat his fault several years ago, because then he would have to explain the whole thing about fingers and ankles and what have you. That was a conversation he wasn't willing to have with an adult. Of course through the years some teachers had heard rumors about his 'abilities,' but as long as Abe pretended not to know what was going on he didn't have to spend three hours at therapy every Tuesday morning.

He was sure Momoe was frowning, even if he couldn't see her face. She was just that type of sentimental person that Abe always felt strange around. Like for instance, the way she had just grabbed his hand—making him drop the object he had been working on—and making speeches about how she cared and was deeply sorry for his troubles. Abe on the other hand tried not to look into her emotional brown eyes that reflected the same sentimental feelings by looking at the bench. He failed, partially.

Showing sympathy for the awkward teen she finally pulled away, not really looking all that sorry for her previous actions. Abe tried not to grumble about the fact that he was _not_ an emotional moron or that he really didn't like it when people touched him unexpectedly. Another partial failure.

"It's not a big deal," he said offhandedly.

Mercifully she didn't continue on her 'Feel-Sorry-For-Abe-Kun' mode and instead changed the subject. "So are you ready for training to really begin?" For some reason whenever there was discussion about baseball Momoe always seemed just as excited as Tajima did about everything.

"Training? How are we supposed to train without a pitcher?" Abe huffed (masculinely), sending another heated glance towards Oki on the field. The mentally threatened youth shivered from his position still behind the short stop, Suyama.

He just happened to notice Momoe's mouth slightly askew, and then the completely confused look on her face.

"Nobody told you?" Hadn't he heard something much like that before? Such as when he had been physically threatening the ex-pitcher earlier? Abe could feel his blood beginning to boil all over again as he remembered the days events.

"I heard Oki isn't pitching anymore!"

"That is true," Momoe mentioned, still looking rather perplexed. "But I thought Izumi and Tajima left practice early to tell you…"

His mind flashed back to the equally conspiratorial glances he had seen passed between the two of them. He even felt the knuckles of his right hand tingle slightly as he thought back to that morning.

"They were supposed to tell you…" Momoe's words trailed off through the dugout, as she seemed more concerned about something at the front gate than her conversation with Abe. He quickly glanced over his shoulder but the only interesting thing he saw was Shinooka teaching Momoe's dog how to roll over before settling on 'Play Sleep, Good Dog!' Ai was wonderful at that particular trick.

"Actually, I'll be right back!" Momoe said cryptically as she took her leave. Abe sighed in both relief and confusion. High School baseball was sure taking a lot out of him. And they were still nowhere near the Summer Tournament.

Abe poured more polish onto the rag, letting it soak into the fabric for a moment. He then leaned over to search for the object he had dropped during the whole 'emotionally unstable' episode. It took some re-positioning before Abe actually found it had rolled more towards the right and under the bench.

By the time he finally pulled out the ball (after letting it slip back a couple of times by mistake), he realized just how much darker his already shaded patch of bench became.

Two shadows—one that could be identified as Momoe, and one that Abe had to squint at and still could not recognize—were blocking out the sun from his vision. He tried tilting his head to get a better look, but still not much luck.

"Abe-kun, I would like you to meet our new pitcher! Abe-kun, this is Mihashi Ren. Mihashi-kun, this is our catcher Abe Takaya. I hope you'll get along in the future!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chiyo-chan: Young girls refer to themselves in the third person to appear cute. And in case you were wondering, this is actually Shino'oka. Her first name is Chiyo, but I wasn't sure everyone would know that…
> 
> Yuuto-chan: Yeah, Sakaeguchi is a meany :D I just have this feeling he would be a bit sore about women having grown up with them, but would mellow out after he lost his mother :|
> 
> Mia-chan: The taller cheer girl XD I don't think she went to middle school with them, but oh well XD. Beats making my own character…
> 
> *Nishiko High School: This might be the school Asa Higuchi based Nishiura off of~ Not sure, though!
> 
> Positions for this chapter:
> 
> Abe: Catcher
> 
> Nishihiro: Left fielder!
> 
> Mizutani: Center fielder—even though he's trained as a second basemen that happens later, when they all need to know two positions, so I thought they would want to keep him in the outfield. This is me overanalyzing, and mostly likely doing it wrong anyway…
> 
> Hanai: Right fielder
> 
> Izumi: Second base
> 
> Sakaeguchi: First base
> 
> Oki: Pitcher
> 
> Suyama: Short stop
> 
> Tajima: Third base—where else would he be?! Besides, you know, first base and catcher… but he's necessary at third.


	3. A String of Unnecessary Things

Abe's inherited a lot from his dad. Like his dark hair and everyone says he has his father's nose. Even their scowls are similar. Abe-sama's is a little deeper, but he's got almost a hundred years of practice over his son. Abe'll catch up one day.

He's also not as great as Abe-sama is when it comes to ignoring his mother. But it's still a life time of practice between them.

Middle school's hard enough without the Seniors and therapy. His body aches and his mind's all kind of messed up- which is the derogatory interpretation of all the politically correct garbage his therapist feeds him. Those are Abe-sama's words, but Abe's nothing if not a product of his upbringing.

He feels justified to laze around Sunday mornings with his dad on the couch while trying to get the feeling back in his limbs. There's a pitcher with a hard throw and Abe's proud to say the bruises only hurt when he touches them now. Still, he's more sore than he likes admitting.

Therapy breaks him a little more than Haruna can ever hope to. That hour every week, sitting in the silence of his own failure makes him reflect on how stupid he's been his whole life. Trusting someone. Honestly. When Abe talks, he tries to say things about his parents. Or school work. Or the weather. But when he does, she goads him on; Mrs. Shimazaki's only interested in his visual hallucinations.

"When we can talk about it, we can figure out why you're having them," she tells Abe simply, because he's honestly stunting his own growth by picking strings out of her upholstery for an hour rather than from his mind.

Abe gets his stubbornness from Abe-sama, too.

But now that he's in the Seniors- _actually playing for the Seniors_ \- his hour of quiet time is a lot less mandatory than it used to be. His mom still drives him after practice, but if he whines long enough he gets to go home early and watch the game with his dad.

Abe's the only one of the two who looks up from their bonding time when the doorbell rings.

"I got it!" Abe-san yells from the kitchen, ducking for her purse.

Abe isn't surprised when he recognizes the red and white checkered uniform, or the man inside it. He winks when he notices Abe's gaze and the boy shrugs back. Because how do people react to that kind of treatment anyway?

He's young, but wide in the shoulders and around the face. Not fat, just... wide. And almost always happy. He's got crazy hair that's as dark as Abe's, but he scowls less than anyone the kid knows. Whenever Abe answers the door the older guy ruffles his hair while asking, "How's school going, kiddo?" in that big booming voice of his, but it doesn't set Abe on edge.

His mom lingers in the doorway longer than necessary, but Abe's probably the only one who notices. Or cares. He figures that's because he's the only one who notices a single red string slacking in the doorway.

"Pizza, boys!" Abe-san sings, suddenly pleasant and warm as she sets the heated box on the coffee table for the "boys" who aren't her youngest son. _Shun's still growing, he can't eat pizza._

"Again?" Abe-sama makes a sound of disgust. Abe says nothing about strings, even though the thought does hit him over the head once or twice.

Truth is, Abe likes the pizza guy. Just not as much as his mother does. He's not sure if he gets that from her or not.

\--

When Abe could see over the glare of the sun he became very certain of two things:

1\. They were going to lose every game this season.

2\. Their new pitcher was a paranoid schizophrenic.

Abe was calling it now before Izumi and Tajima started the betting pool. He'd researched this stuff back in middle school. He'd been having a schizophrenic break down, supposedly. Mrs. Shimazaki didn't need to say it out loud, but he figured she was always writing the signs down in her stupid little book.

The blond was twitchy. And nervous. Like a coup was going to be formed at any minute, The Nishiura Revolution of 2012. He didn't look Abe in the eyes. He didn't look at Momo-kan- who he'd known for a good week or something.

And his fears probably reflected exactly what Abe was thinking, Hopeless.

Momo-kan didn't seem to care what she'd done to the poor boy's already shaky mental state and slaps a very rough hand on his shoulder. "This is our new pitcher," Momo-kan introduced him. "His name's Mihashi and he's a transfer from Mihoshi in Gunma!"

Abe never really understood, or planned to in the future, why Momo-kan did everything with such enthusiasm. Maybe she had a distant cousin in Vanna White. Or she smokes crack behind the dugout, because honestly there's no way someone can say, "I spent my life's savings and sacrificed hours of my work in order to put together this crack team of freshman who can't catch pop flies-Mizutani- and now we're replacing our pitcher with some potential for this creature who's below ostriches on the food chain," with the sunniest smile ever.

It's like a goddamn super power.

Abe remained silent. He could protest. He could yell- storm off the field like a five-year-old with a temper tantrum. Which is what he'd like to do, but he's already committed himself to Koshien. That gorgeous, beautiful pipe dream.

They'll just have to hope for next year and a freshman with an arm like a Greek God.

Abe watched as Momo-kan surveyed the field, trying his hardest to ignore the twitching in his peripheral vision (and the one starting in his right eye). She smiled back at Abe, "I'll catch you up on the new changes later, but for now, " she slapped Mihashi on the back hard enough to send the blond tumbling into the dugout, catching himself just short of going over a bench, "you two need to get more acquainted." She waved good bye to the new battery and Abe welcomed his migraine with more than enough dignity.

The sun was just about sunk by the time Abe lost his patience. For a new guy who wheedle his way onto the pitcher's mound a couple of weeks into the season, Mihashi's not all that willing to talk.

When Abe asked, "Where's Mihoshi Academy?" he was answered with what sounded like a really depressed squawk.

When he wondered, "Why did you transfer?" he earned a wholehearted flail.

When he offered, "Let's work on some signs, okay? We can use the ones you're used to," the guy cried. Cried.

Who the hell cried in high school?

"Uhm, sorry, man." Abe wasn't sure how comforting he could be. Usually at this point the girl had run off to lick her wounds with the rest of hyenas at the school. But Mihashi wasn't a girl. Not physically. Was he supposed to pat him on the back? Give him candy? Pat his head?

He settled on not doing anything.

"N-no. It's... Not your fault," Mihashi told him, still looking off to the side and not at his face. It was starting to piss Abe off. The stupid stuttering in his already quivering voice wasn't helping Abe's desire to slap the poor kid upside the head. It was acting as a very potent fuel if nothing else.

"Then why are you crying?"

"'C-Cause..." Mihashi whimpered, his voice falling short of an explanation. Abe tried to listen to the muttering, but he wasn't even sure if the sentence was still intelligible.

"Because why?" Abe pressed harder. Mihashi squeaked again.

"Don't have any!" He blurted out quickly. The blond stared down at his own hands, working out a few universal signs that Abe recognized: 2 Outs. 3 Balls; 1 Strike. "I-I don't think my catcher liked... me... very much..."

Can't imagine why. Abe rolled his eyes.

"H-he wanted Kanou to play. ...Not me. But... I wanted. To be the Ace. S-so I couldn't... give up the mound."

Couldn't give up the mound. Abe watched Mihashi. As he twitched in place. How his eyes fled everywhere around the dugout, but not towards Abe. He could see Mihashi take him in in his peripheral, but that was probably the closest he would come for a while. He noticed how Mihashi's breathing looked more like the poor kid was having an asthma attack.

The guy was a bundle of nerves ready to break at any minute.

Yet he was choosing to be the center of the whole game. He wanted the stress of being a pitcher. He wanted it enough to stand up to his teammate to keep it.

Like a spoiled brat. Yet, "I like that." Mihashi jumped so Abe continued: "I mean that you want to pitch. That you won't give up the mound." Several images of Haruna's back sprung to mind. "I wouldn't trust a pitcher who would."

Mihashi's eyes grew several sizes that moment. He was still working on the signs with his fingers, over and over again. Some, Abe concluded when he didn't recognize them himself, were probably one's he'd observed between his last catcher and this Kanou guy. That… Abe could respect it, while also feeling it was the most pathetic thing ever.

"I'll teach you some signs, then," Abe said helpfully. "You can change them if you can't remember them."

He could still hear Mihashi thinking, Hopeless.

Abe would just have to ignore him for the rest of the season, outside the batting cage and practice.

He leaned his head into his balled fist, still watching Mihashi sign away. The blond's hands bothered him. They were smooth on the back, but calloused and bruised on his palms. They weren't the hands of a hoity toity player who threw 80 pitches a game. They were working hands, that played. And played hard. He could work with that. Maybe. Was that bothering him? He wasn't sure… Maybe it was just Mihashi in general.

Abe's leg began to bounce in annoyance. "Mihashi. Are you listening to me?"

That achieved the (almost) desired effect. Mihashi nodded to Abe's neckline, his fingers going slack on his practice sweats.

Abe sighed, resigned. "Let's work on some signs. We'll start pitching in the morning."

Working with Mihashi was a lot less hellish than talking to Mihashi. The guy watched Abe's fingers like a starved dog watched meat. The blond mimicked him one after the other. He recited each of them in his own, bumbling, way when Abe asked him to review. Mihashi was nothing if not determined to work hard, despite any of his own shortcomings. It was slightly heartwarming in a way.

"Let me just say one thing," Abe lowered his voice, knowing the intimidation would work on Mihashi's nerves. "I hate pitcher's who shake off my signs. When I sign, you pitch." His warning had the desired effect: Mihashi "Eeped!" in the affirmative, nodding his understanding. Abe leaned back, pleased. As pleased as he could be with a ragtag team of freshman who couldn't play baseball, and Tajima who could but was not Abe's favorite person outside of the fact.

Seconds later, Momoe called the boys onto the field for a post practice wrap up.

"Great job as always, Tajima," Momoe complimented their star player. "You still need to work on concentrating, Mizutani. Oki… You're doing well at first base!

"Which reminds me. Now that we're settling into our new positions, I've decided to schedule a practice game," Momo-kan's disposition took a completely sinister turn, "against Mihoshi Academy!"

Abe had never heard a human squeal like a dog before, but Mihashi had it down to an artform.

"He says he's got nine strike zones," Sakaeguchi was gushing to Abe as they entered the convenience store together. "Even Tajima says that's impressive. Tajima."

There's a difference between the truth and what a pitcher says, Abe kept that part to himself as the sandy haired baseman ran to meet up with his boyfriend over by the frozen drinks. Abe's mind flashed to a particular individual with scary eyes and a throw that could kill a small animal on impact. The chips he'd unconsciously picked up popped open under the force of his fist. Abe sighed as he took out his wallet to pay for them. This was totally he who shalt not be mentioned's fault. Completely.

"$1.60." Abe handed over a single five dollar bill and took his change. He said his goodnights to Sakaeguchi and nodded at Suyama who acknowledged him back on his way out the store. Sakaeguchi was leaning against the doors, talking animatedly while the shortstop reached for a drink. Abe could barely see the red string between them.

The catcher had just finished unlocking his bike when he felt Tajima jump onto his back (read: Tajima attacked him). The shorter one laughed while Abe scowled back at the shorter player. "The hell is your problem, Tajima?"

The meep from behind him caught Abe off guard a bit.

"Don't worry about him, Mihashi!" Tajima walked back to his small group of friends. Abe shouldn't have been surprised that Tajima would have been nice enough to include Mihashi in his daily shenanigan's, but he never would have thought the blond would follow through. But he seemed to have no problem now looking over Tajima's face. Granted, he still looked scared shitless.

Tajima threw an arm over the blond's shoulders. "Abe's just got a dildo up his butt. Right, Izumi?" Tajima turned to his slightly taller friend for approval.

"A stick." Izumi corrected him, but Abe didn't appreciate the downgrade in size. Especially not when Izumi snorted, blatantly.

"Let's go get snacks!" Tajima declared quickly, grabbing Mihashi's hand and dragging the sap inside behind him. Mihashi gapes at him as Tajima dragged him past the bike rack. It was a slightly disturbing look, one a chicken gave as it was led to slaughter. Abe would have laughed if it weren't true.

Izumi followed shortly behind them, shrugging at the catcher. Abe didn't watch _him_ go. He kicked the bike stand gently and just almost hopped on board when he looked inside instead.

Mihashi looked petrified as he watched Tajima load a small cart to spilling point. Izumi was removing items from the cart as the third baseman worked, picking up anything that landed in the wake of Hurricane Tajima.

Abe didn't want to be friends with them. He was fine with his acquaintanceship with Sakaeguchi and the head tilt of acknowledgement he had going on with Suyama. And he loved his snarky relationship with Hanai. Hanai was fun.

But he would be lying if he said it didn't bother him that Mihashi fit in almost sort of perfectly with the obnoxious duo bent on destroying Abe's life. Mihashi- who just an hour ago was crying on a bench and stuttering through a dialogue with his catcher without once looking him in the eyes. The same guy he was watching laughing (it probably sounded like a chirp) as Tajima spilled a whole tube of Pringles on the floor that even Izumi wasn't willing to clean up. (Was that actually laughing? It looked like it for Mihashi. Not that Abe really knew what "Mihashi" stuff looked like. He just met the guy).

How did someone like Mihashi get to fit in (sort of easily)? Mihashi bugged him. It wasn't a strange occurrence. Abe was certain that Mihashi annoyed a great deal of people. All the time. And a great deal of people annoyed Abe. Like Mihashi.

It was just something on the edge of his mind. And it was recent. But it'd been on his mind for the last hour- a quiet haunting he couldn't quite grasp. The second he'd seen Tajima's fingers slip through the blond's and Abe felt like he'd been missing something important. And he just couldn't-

Abe could see Mihashi's hand in his head. As he slid it through his hair. When he fidgeted with his shirt. Made signs for outs and fouls. When Tajima grabbed his hand not ten minutes ago. And now, with Mihashi making stupid clapping motions with his hand while Tajima rainbowed sugar from an open fundip packet into his mouth _(like he needed the damn sugar)._

Mihashi's hands were a creamy white and rough from throwing fastballs every summer...

And white. Just creamy, white skin unblemished by red.

_Mihashi doesn't have a thread._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fourth chapter will be uploaded sometime this month, after I have successfully navigated through my academic career...


	4. A String of Subconsciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not so much a gift Abe's been given, but a reoccurring nightmare...

Dr. Shimazaki's been skirting around the prominent bruises on Abe's forearm for the past two sessions. He'd meant to change before she saw them, when his skin first started coloring, but his mom picked him up early that day and changing wasn't an option. The imprint of a baseball is remarkably clear, though, so he's pretty certain she's not mistaking it for child abuse.  
  
He hopes.  
  
"How did you come across that bruise?" She finally asks. Her wording confuses Abe. It's not like he collects them in his free time.  
  
"I play baseball," he answers, smartly.  
  
"You're not… being teased, are you Takaya?"  
  
 _Oh._  
  
Actually, the guys are pretty nice, all things considered. They don't talk about Abe's 'special gifts.' Then again, none of them attend his middle school.  
  
Besides, baseball makes him happy. He's actually pretty great at it, too, if he drops all the empty modesty.  
  
It's middle school, actually, that's more of the problem. He knows most to all of his classmates and they remember him well enough. Kids aren't so forgiving of past mistakes as much as he wishes they were. Then again, he's not exactly a practitioner of the virtue himself.  
  
And that's another reason Abe loves baseball: It makes him appear tougher. _Makes him manlier._ No one's going to dare mess with a bonefied jock.  
  
"No," He tries to say quickly. "They're fine. It's just the pitcher: He's got a… wild arm."  
  
The good doctor leans back in her chair, which looks just a bit more comfortable than his own. She scrutinizes Abe with a stare he doesn't quite appreciate. She puts her pen against her lips as she asks, "Are you protecting them because you think you deserve it?”  
  
Abe doesn’t think that Haruna’s missing his glove on purpose. He’s the one who egged the wild teen to throw his hardest. So he can't call it abuse or bullying; it’s his choice with a lack of accuracy that causes him to take a few extra hits for the team than necessary.  
  
He self-consciously pulls at his sleeve anyway. His therapist must take this as a sign of admission because she tells him, "You don't have to feel like that, Takaya. It's _not_ your fault."  
  
Maybe Abe really is punishing himself by putting up with the pretentious dick bag. It’s not like it’s been a picnic.  
  
But he feels alive when their on the field together. Abe forgets about silly things and focuses solely on the pitch, on the _pap_ in his mitt. The pain is just a price he pays for being paired with someone so… _talented_. Even if he _is_ a dick with a strict pitch count.  
  
So maybe he is punishing himself. It sounds like a less selfish alternative to his conscious motives. Because the truth is, he really is the driving factor behind his parent's contempt--or general apathy--towards their eldest son. He's probably the force behind their failing marriage, too. If he's paying the price for it, at least he's pretty happy doing it. Even if he's just deluding himself a bit longer...  
  
“I guess not,” Abe chooses to say out of nowhere. It takes a minute, but he sees it in her eyes when Dr. Shimazaki catches up. She writes something down in her notebook and Abe goes back to starring out the window.  
  
***  
  
Abe found himself hard pressed to sleep that night. His eyes would close, his body finally relax, but then something scratched inside his head. Suddenly his body was wired. This activity ran itself in circles for several cycles before Abe finally gave up.  
  
His sleep had been disturbed all week. Probably a mixture of grief and lack of exercise-- he'd even spent all today training the new pitcher instead doing anything worthwhile.  
  
 _Mihashi._  
  
The thought of the new pitcher reminded Abe of his new discovery and pinched something inside his gut.  
  
He raised his hand against the back drop of his ceiling. Aside from the different shades in the dark, there was nothing discernible about Abe's hand and the gray around him. No protruding colors that made him cringe.  
  
Abe was used to the sight. Or lack thereof. He'd spent most of his childhood prepping himself for the forever long nights. To be alone. But that was okay.  
  
Abe was okay.  
  
He'd been training for this longer than he'd been playing baseball.  
  
 _It was fine._  
  
\----  
  
The teacher’s lounge was surprisingly empty when Abe entered first thing in the morning. The lights had been switched off and the few rays of sun that shone through the early fog casted a soft glow. Someone had seemingly moved the furniture to each side of the room for no visible reason to the young catcher, leaving the center space completely open.

  
Abe ignored the quick shivers that raced each other down his spine and entered the room with a hoarse, “Hello?”

  
In the hollowed center it almost felt like his voice had echoed. Morning baseball practice had made Abe accustomed to quiet classrooms when most of the other students were still sleeping or starting their morning commutes, but this was almost ridiculous. He couldn’t place his finger on why, but the school had felt… abandoned?

  
Practice! Abe had skipped practice! At least, he didn’t remember attending. He’d probably been called here to discuss something with Momo-kan. Maybe she was giving up on this season, what with their inept new pitcher and inability to find a voluntary club advisor. It was a sobering feeling—Abe had almost believed they’d be just enough. At least for a match or two until next year when they’d be a (hopefully) stronger force. But he knew that dreams didn’t just fall into place so easily. They took work. Skills. And a game meant for nine players couldn’t be held on the back of three decent players. Tajima had been the miracle that fell into their lap, but hoping for anything more was truly just a pipe dream.

  
Abe walked to the window, cupping his hands against the glass to try tosquint through the fog at the baseball field. The batting cages and fences stood just over the fog, but making anything else out was impossible.

  
He wondered if the rest of the boys were down there practicing their hitting and throwing. Were they aware their extracurricular activity was about to be cut? Had they decided to just stay home and catch up on sleeping in?

  
What was Abe supposed to do without baseball?

  
…Come to think of it… Abe couldn’t remember being called to the faculty lounge. His commute to school was as foggy as the condensation outside, which he found rather odd. He didn’t think being on “auto pilot” would excuse forgetting almost literally slicing through the air—this sort of weather called for attentive safety protocols. And what’s more--

  
“What the hell?” Abe heard himself exclaim, tearing himself from the view with a knee jerk reaction as it settled in his mind: _The field can’t be seen from school._

  
He barely registered stepping on something thick on the floor with his heel until he felt himself slipping backwards, bracing himself for a harsh impact that never came.

  
The floor was soft for tile. And sort of warm, as opposed to cold and slick as he remembered them feeling. His right hand squeezed at his side, tightening around a group of thick objects—leathery and rough against his calloused fingers. Turning his head met Abe with a sea of off-white—almost gray-- and well… _red_ much to his chagrin.

  
 _These are…_ he brought his right hand closer to his face to examine the bunches of leather. His suspicions had been correct: He’d landed in a pile of baseball leather. A pile that hadn’t been there when he’d first walked across the room.

  
It appeared as though someone had dissected hundreds of balls, discarding of the actual center while somehow expertly keeping each side relatively intact with, well, _the red string._

  
Abe was certain of it now. He’d landed smack dab in the middle of a nightmare, in a horror movie setting.

  
The catcher was going to be skinned alive. He was just hoping he’d wake up before any of the real horror began.

  
Honestly, though, for feeling rather conscious about the scenario, the raven haired boy didn’t feel like he had much control over anything. Usually by this point he could manipulate himself to go flying or imagine himself at a game, or re-imagine a scenario where he actually broke Haruna’s arm in a dugout bathroom after a particularly infuriating game—but he hadn’t felt very sore about the guy in question for a while now. So long as he didn’t think about it…

  
 _Scritch, scritch, scitch…_ started ticking in his ears. It started out light, somewhere from over his head, but soon the noise got denser. It sounded like someone was cutting wood. It occurred to Abe that it might be about the time in his nightmare where the axe murderer came to knock down the door and make an attempt for his (subconscious) life.

  
But it didn’t happen.

  
The noise continued at the same tone for a long while, neither moving closer nor away. Plus, he reconsidered, the door had been opened when he entered earlier and he hadn’t attempted to close it.

  
 When the dream didn’t seem to want to pick up its pace, Abe decided it was probably time to explore for the source. It wasn’t like he had anything (physical) to lose anyway.

  
All it took was for the catcher to turn over on his stomach to find out he wasn’t alone. Someone (a teacher, he figured) sat quietly hunched over a desk on the side of the room. From the broad shoulders and a coat that look liked something his father would wear to work, Abe assumed it was a male teacher. His figure alone looked rather imposing, but he hadn’t seemed to notice the baseball player at all, nor did he seem interested in looking up from his work.

  
It looked like he was writing, at least from the short jerks of his left shoulder.

  
“Excuse me?” Abe tried getting his attention. The man didn’t even flinch. “Hey!”

  
Careful of his leather flooring, the catcher slowly stood up and precariously made his way over to the professor.

  
 Now that he was standing, Abe could see that the pile stretched out beyond the open doorway, going down either ends of the hall.

  
Beside the man’s desk sat several hills of the off-white material, standing proudly half way to the ceiling. Honestly, the imagery gave the catcher the creeps. It was giving him second thoughts about trying to blow off therapy for so long—he seemed to be in some desperate need of it now.

  
Upon reaching the desk, Abe hesitated to place a hand on the man’s shoulder. He could have actually been dangerous. Though, Abe reconciled, it didn’t actually matter so long as he still woke up. Instead, the catcher chose to look down. The tabletop was in no better condition than the rest of the room-- items were shoved every which way and leather pieces and strings were strewn around with no sense of order to be found.  
  
He picked up one end, holding it high enough for the other side to become untangled from it's neighbors. He hadn't been in an investigating mood when he first stumbled on the material, but he could almost make something out in the dim light: There was writing. On each side was very faint font in a different shade of white--words that Abe couldn't understand, and yet something about all of them seemed familiar at the same time.  
  
Abe leaned over to try to get the professor's attention, giving a rather loud (and admittedly brash) exclamation of, "Excuse me?" but the words went cold on his tongue.  
  
The man, from what he could see, had a rather bulky looking appearance. His eyes were downcast and hidden under the thick rim of his glasses. His fore head seemed long and drooped as far as the youth could tell-- almost neanderthalic. It would have been a humorous position to see this sort of man hunched over a desk, one hand stretched out as though he were trying to discourage someone from cheating off his test--  
  
It wasn't his appearance that frightened Abe, though.

He was writing. _Right into the desk._

The catcher couldn't explain why he suddenly felt like running, but he never got the chance as the man's hand suddenly shot out, grabbing at one of Abe's arms and holding it rather tightly. An (almost) silent scream rippled through the smaller males throat as he tugged against his captor. The leather he'd forgotten he'd been holding involuntarily dropped to the floor.  
  
At first it seemed as though the man were angry--this was it, this was the part of the dream where he got, well, _killed_ \--but the harsh face dissolved into a long, odd smile that seemed almost… insidious to the frightened catcher. It felt like a block of ice had frozen around the organs in his gut.  
  
"I think it's time you got ready for practice now, Abe," the man stated, matter of factly.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Abe mouthed the words as he starred up at his bedroom ceiling. His phone alarm went off, followed shortly by the clock on his bed side table.  
  
It took a minute for him to realize the whole thing had been a dream. The memory of the man’s eyes sent a shiver down his spine, but Abe couldn’t spare too much time dwelling on it. He had a pitcher to train.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably try editing this again by the end of the week, but I decided if I hold on to it any longer I probably wouldn't upload it at all unu Sorry if the character seems out of… well, character… I hope it was enjoyable on some level~! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!


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